


The Painting

by Valkurion



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Art, Art Date, Artistic Nudity, Budding Romance, Creativity, Culture, Dates, Dating, Domestic, Dutch, English, F/F, Fluff, French, German, Homoerotica, Homosexual Romance, Homosexuality, Languages, Lesbian Relationship, Lesbian Romance, Lesbian Topics, Lesbians, Linguistics, Love, Multiculturalism, Nudity, Romance, Sexuality, Strong Language, Swearing, Yuri, arabic, art gallery, expression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkurion/pseuds/Valkurion
Summary: Part 3 of my Overwatch Aniversary Celebration! Angela visits an art gallery to view a painting, where she meets Fareeha looking at the very same painting...





	The Painting

**Author's Note:**

> This is also a little celebration of my own - it's my 50th Story here on AO3! So I wanted to make it a little special and make sure the fiftieth upload was my favourite ship from Overwatch - Pharmercy/Rocket Angels. I love Fareeha so much, I main her and have done since day one of playing the game and even from not being on Tumblr I always felt she belonged with Angela, like two matching figures of an action set. Or in a perfect example - two Queens of a deck of cards. 
> 
> This little piece may continue, I'm not sure I want to gauge the response, so please if you like it and want to see Angey and Fareeha on the following date and then in the following bedroom, please please comment and let me know!
> 
> Thanks for all the support on AO3, and here's to fifty more stories and so many more lesbians yes? Yes!

Angela was sat solitarily, resolute on the single seat in the middle of the exhibit, just looking at the painting, not ever taking her eyes away from it. It was just so captivating, so enthralling, Angela just could not move away or stop looking at it at all. 

It was a fairly controversial painting and crudely made, critiqued heavily in the art world both for the nature of the artist, her methods and what the painting was anyway. But all those factors, were simply what made Angela Ziegler adore that painting more than any other piece of art in the gallery. The raw wash of it, the crude design and the nakedness of it, how every curve and line was roughed out and yet so pompous and proud at the same time. Was it a portrait of the artist’s friends? Or was the artist in there herself? Was she the muse? What made her paint and create such a splendid and lovely work? So many questions came into and floated around Angela’s tepid and adventurous mind. She was twenty-three, in the middle of Medical School and she had ended up here, in London, for some reason that was escaping her, and this one painting had made her mind explode and soar through the annals of her consciousness and waking thought more than anything else had in so long. It just utterly sublime to be in the presence of in this gallery. Angela never wanted to stop looking at it. 

“Es ist einfach schön…” Angela spoke softly to herself, not paying any attention to if someone was listening or paying attention to her. She felt very much displaced from time and space, sent there through the painting. 

It was gathering crowds, simply for what it was, and what it was, was a spray and traditional painting of two beautiful women having sex, beautiful sex, sublime sex, and magical sex, the kind of sex that women only ever experience when they are completely open and so in tune with each other’s feelings. Despite her past relationships with men and women, Angey had not experienced such love or such sex. The painting had made her think of that, and how much she wanted it. But it was more than that, so much more.

Angela sipped her red wine, and gripped her programme, thinking she should move but not at all wanting to. She stared more and more at the naked women in the painting, so in love, from the picture of the mouth of the upper woman, as the second - a redhead with gorgeous freckles - had her lips over the left nipple of her lover. Their legs were entangled as they were intimate, such sublime sex. “Fick mich…” Angela cursed as she followed the curves of the women with her wandering eyes. She followed their breasts, the curved arcs of the lower girl’s back as they sloped downward to the woman’s ass and her girlfriend’s splendid thighs. Angey wished she had thicker thighs, and that she had someone to share this amazing experience with. Just staring in homoerotic awe at the women in the painting and watching it almost move. 

The painting was moving in many ways. Moving in how it simply expressed the love and sex between two women in a world where it was even still disgusting to some minority of populations in the West. Moving in how the lines and the colours and the intricacies of the construction made it seem like it was moving. And moving in the way it moved Angela inside herself, making her deepest fantasies and wants and loves come surfacing to the forefront of her medically orientated and studious mind. Her bag was currently filled with her medical books and journals, her notes from the lecture at the medical college nearby, and her diaries and schedules. 

Angela Ziegler was a very busy and rapid person, stopping to admire art was a rare thing indeed for her. “Es macht mir den Atem…” She spoke again in her native tongue of German. She always spoke German to herself, it allowed for her to be able to speak and in case anyone was listening, they would not hear her or understand her. 

Only there was someone around who did. 

“Es macht meine knie schwach, um ehrlich ze sein,” spoke a woman that had silently managed to sit directly next to Angela on the middle seat. She made Angey jump, slightly startled at the intimate whisper with which the other woman responded. It was something about how the painting was making her knees weak in opposition to how it took Angela's breath away. 

The other woman looked a little younger, like she had not yet hit her twenties and she was tanned, beautifully so, not black but certainly dark skinned and it made her look gorgeous, more so than the other white women roaming the gallery. Her right eye was adorned with a beautiful tattoo also, which to Angela’s eye was Eastern, or certainly northeastern African. She had to ask before gauging anything else about the beautiful girl.

Angela stuttered she spoke, bewitched by the tanned girl’s plump and bulbous lips as they formed a rather giddy looking smile, her teeth sparkly white and pearly. “Ist das ägyptisch?” Angela asked her, just making sure she was not about to make an assumption about the girl’s nationality. The Swiss medical student was not well versed on geography so cultural markings of peoples outside of Europe, and many times inside of the continent, eluded her mental grasp. She really did not want to insult the beautiful women in front of her. Her heart was beginning to swell a little a thump a little faster in her rib cage. ‘Dear gods, she’s really beautiful, so beautiful. My heart is pounding.’ She was thinking, blushing already. 

The tanned eighteen-year-old was blushing too, only a little more subtle and masked by her tanned skin in the white light of the art gallery. But she understood Angela’s question perfectly, her grasp of languages was impeccable and she would fully showcase her linguistic talents to the pretty blonde now sitting to face her. 

In the corner of her eye, the tanned girl saw the pale woman’s hand reach out a little only to be placed just shy of her bare thigh. Because of the weather, the tanned girl was dressed in short dungarees, that were folded up at the end of the legs which stopped at the top of her thighs. While the pale medical student was in a simple summer dress and a light cardigan, yellow and cream in colours but the woman had forgotten to remove her stethoscope before coming to the art gallery. She may have well have been wearing a sign that said ‘Doctor’. 

“Ja, ich bin aus Ägypten. Mein name ist Fareeha Armani, und du bist?” Fareeha answered, confirming to Angela that she was Egyptian, and then asked for her name in response. Her accent was a little rocky, not as harsh as most Germans and not as softly spoken as Angey and her fellow Swiss compatriots. Fareeha’s accent was certainly one of a woman from Africa who has learnt the language, but she was speaking it with such confidence and grace, it was lovely to listen to as Angela softly sighed sitting before her. She could listen to that voice a lot more. She had to come up with a way to make Fareeha stay with her. 

“Schön dich zu treffen Fareeha, ich bin Angela,” Angey spoke again in her bastardised Swiss accent of German, introducing herself, then she keyed in her strategy. “Sprichst du Englisch? Oder Französisch? Oder auch Niederländisch?” Angela asked, probing Fareeha to see if she could speak any other languages, just be ways of having a little fun. Angey smiled rather gleefully, edging a little more forward as she questioned the beautiful Egyptian.

Fareeha giggled a little, leaning in closer herself. “Eh bien, je parle français,” she began, smiling and giggling like a young girl fresh out of college, which was what Angela was beginning to believe the girl was. “Ik spreek ook nederlands,” Fareeha told Angey in Dutch, smiling as she tried to imitate the accent as best she could. She’d struggled with Dutch a lot when learning it, ‘twas, not her forte the same way some West Asian or European languages were. Arabic, French and English she had been gifted in learning. “Bialttubei, ‘atakallam alearabiat kama tatawaqqaeun… And yes, I speak English, very fluent too, Angela.”

The way she spoke Angela’s name in English, the way she left the gap in her sentence before saying it, and the way her beautiful Egyptian inflexion of an accent curved around the A and the G and the L, it made Angey simply skyrocket with longing for this woman. Fareeha was beautiful, her mind a succulent candy piece that Angey wanted to suckle on for hours and her body pristine, and her voice, a luscious lullaby that was making the Swiss student want to dress her up like a doll and take her home to sleep with her. 

It was as if her heart had suffered a critical chemical reaction and now Angey was in utter meltdown. She needed more time with this woman, much much more time. 

“Please, call me Angey, Fareeha…”

Fareeha’s eyebrows popped up like three sevens on a slot machine and she had won the jackpot. The jackpot, of course, being time with this lovely women, but the Egyptian needed much much more. She wanted so dearly to hold her hand and sit with her a long while, watch the whole gallery pass them by and then when it was time to go, Fareeha would want dearly to take this older looking medical student to a date, dinner in some lovely bistro she knew. Then she wanted to take Angela home and take her bed. The way she spoke her name, the softness of the Swiss voice accenting the F and the R followed by the double Es. It made Fareeha weaker at her knees than the painting. Angela’s voice was sublime.

But Angey looked away and back to the painting, still sitting just as close as she could without it feeling a little strange to Fareeha. “What do you think of the painting Fareeha?” Angey asked her, blushing and seeming very embarrassed indeed as she held her clenched fist over her lips.”Truly? What does it trigger in you?”

Fareeha didn’t know whether she should answer truly, for her inner thoughts were all of imitating what the painting was displaying - the intimate and sexual love between two women, no frustrating or troublesome men involved. Just women, so erotic and so explicit. Two women, loving their bodies and loving the sex between them. 

“...Eros…” Fareeha told Angey, making her look at the girl’s tanned cheeks as she blushed and told the blonde woman what she thought. “I see, such a physical love between two women, where no men, or patriarchy could ever interfere. It’s so natural to me, so beautiful, and it… It… Makes me…”

“Yes, Fareeha?” Angela asked her again, leaning in a little more and shuffling her intrepid hand a little closer, daring to reach out for the girl’s hand. “Does it… Make you want to imitate it?” The medical student asked, blushing profusely as she spoke it, daring to tell a complete stranger what she wanted from the painting, what it made her want to invoke. It made her want to imitate it with Fareeha. Already.

She coughed, and Fareeha edged a little closer to her still, her face a little shocked that Angey had told her the same thing she really wanted to tell. They had only just met and yet both women wanted each other a little more than was normal for two strangers to want each other. It was a mutually assured attraction to its fullest and Fareeha was fighting the urge to reach out and take the probably older woman by her cheeks and kiss her beautiful and thin lips. Angey had of course already fantasised extensively about how blissful Fareeha’s plump and thick lips would feel against hers. 

Kissing the middle of an art gallery, with a painting of two naked women enjoying sex before them. Never had a more womanly and freeing thought entered both of their minds. It was so matriarchal and so sapphic, it yearned to be painted with the muse of the original as a backdrop. Fareeha and Angela needed to be an all new portraiture, kissing in the art gallery or more.

“Imitate… Fuck,” Fareeha cursed, setting Angey off a little by surprise, startling her just a tad. “Ich weiß nicht, es ist so… Explizit…” Fareeha spoke in a brisk German, too embarrassed to speak it English. It was then that Angey freaked, pulling back her hand and shifting in her seat, holding, clutching at her handbag with her small amount of strength. 

“I’m so sorry! I… I-I didn’t mean! I did not mean anything by that! I am so sorry Fareeha. Ich bin so ein idiot…” Angela demoted herself, calling herself an idiot as she looked away, feeling like she should leave. 

But Fareeha placed her hand on Angey’s shoulder, reassuringly before she scooted up really close as if to almost take the Swiss student in a bold embrace. “Actually what I meant Angela was that I hadn’t thought about something so explicit… Until I saw you looking at it…”

Angela froze, blushing more than she had ever. Her cheeks were a splendid beetroot red and her hands were beginning to tremble and fidget as she tossed her fingers between themselves. Fareeha had successfully taken Angela’s interest, taken it on a fancy dinner date and then proceeded to fuck her interest’s brains out for a solid few hours. And now Angey simply wanted to follow her interest’s footsteps and end up in the same place tomorrow morning - Fareeha Armani’s bed or vice versa. 

“Fareeha… Möchtest du mich heute zum Abendessen besuchen?” Angela asked in her soft and beautifully spoken German. She was asking Fareeha if she wanted to join her for dinner, only she wanted for more than that and she was aiming to play for more. 

The tanned Egyptian looked into Angela’s eyes wantingly and almost desperately as hands were now placed in and on hands. “I thought you would never ask…”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story and maybe want to see some more, please think about commenting and feeding back? I would muchly appreciate it!


End file.
